


L'amour Toujours

by killyourstarlings



Category: The Incredibles (2004)
Genre: Angst, Don't Judge Me, Drinking, F/M, I mean it fits canon so he didn't really, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Making Out, Sexual Tension, also there's a 500-word makeout scene between this animated married couple, but it's still a big theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killyourstarlings/pseuds/killyourstarlings
Summary: At some point, Bob and Helen had to discuss the new sports car, the getting in shape, the blonde hair, and the lies -- and of course, they do it exhausted, in a motel, through tears and a cheap bottle of champagne.





	L'amour Toujours

 

* * *

_I adored you_

_Before I laid my eyes, I laid my eyes on you._

_L’amour toujours;_

_I just can’t take my eyes, can’t take my eyes off you…_

\- “Adore (acoustic version)” by Jasmine Thompson.

* * *

And so, this was how an endless day ended — reeking of dryer lint and disinfectant.  There were worse things, but at this moment, between the throbs of her head, Helen couldn’t name a single one.

Coffee and pain reliever had drawn everything down to a dull ache by now.  Her muscles strained against her skin; the thud of her bare heels against grainy motel carpet echoed against the base of her skull.  Her baser urges craved sleep, but the wheels wouldn’t stop spinning in her head, processing, punching the numbers.  She needed a drink, to dull the buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Adrenaline was a fickle bitch, and its recoil knocked out all three children on the car ride over.  Not one of them stirred as Bob hoisted one on each shoulder, Helen escorting the smallest of the three to the cheapest, fastest crib they’d been able to purchase at whatever unholy hour.  Only she and Bob remained, ghosts in the silence.

She could hear her pulse in her ears.  It made her want to scream.

Instead, she slumped down the hall with featherlight steps, so as not to wake anyone.  A green-blue light bounced off the yellowed tile of the kitchen; she peeked past the corner to find Bob on his feet, bathed in the same green-blue.  He didn’t notice her, rifling through the cabinet drawers with the cunning of a common criminal.  She raised an eyebrow.

“Silverware’s on the far right,” she said — he jolted, nearly hitting his head on the overhead cabinet.  She stifled laughter, but discerned from his expression that she wasn’t hiding it well.

“I’m looking for a corkscrew,” he muttered, and nodded toward the end of the counter.  A tiny bottle of champagne sat corked, label hidden by a big orange price sticker.  It was cheaper than the clearance blouse itching at her shoulders, but by god, it sounded like heaven.

Tiptoeing over the threshold from muddy-green carpet to sticky tile, Helen pulled out a barstool and eased her sore back into it.  Bob pushed the drawer shut before moving onto the next.  Her chin dropped to her hands, eyelids drooping.

“Aha,” came his mumble of victory; his hand emerged, clutching a tiny corkscrew.  She smiled through her exhaustion and slid the bottle over.

As he tilted his head to his work, shadows outlined the purple rims of his eyes, deep round moons itching for rest.  His shoulders dragged against his frame, and where the too-tight collar of his shirt pulled open, matching lavender bruises peeked out.  He looked absolutely wrecked, and not in the familiar way.

Helen pursed her lips.  The cork hissed into the air.

While he moved over the sink, Helen stretched her arm around him to open the far cabinet.  She blindly retrieved two glasses and pulled them back — Bob stole one from her along the way, already pouring.

The silence extended over them like the reaching arms of a hideous monster, punctuated by the tinkle of bubbles into glass.  His expression was unreadable, limp with exhaustion but not at all easy.  He was thinking something, and keeping it all to himself.

When the fizz went down, he gestured the glass toward her.  She graciously accepted, watching intently as he poured his own drink.

The champagne burned against her throat, more like a cleaning solution than a beverage.  She screwed her eyes shut and knocked back the whole glass, clinking it down against the counter before Bob’s drink had even settled.  His eyes widened, scraping up her figure.

Without a word about it, he refilled her glass.  She took it up and tilted it toward him in a halfhearted cheers.

Two prolonged sips later, and he did say something, because she knew he was dying for it.

“You okay?” he asked — hopefully not in the anticipation of any real answer.  She was too damned tired to go into that.  Instead, she nodded and hummed into the rim of her glass.

The more truthful answer was that she didn’t know if she was okay yet.  She didn’t have enough alcohol in her; they weren’t in their room in their home, and this champagne tasted like shit.  The two of them were experiencing the most awkward silence in their marriage, and she was afraid even _this_ would dissolve into a fight.  They always found a way to do that.

Bob leaned back against the refrigerator, staring at the floor pensively.  She could’ve asked him what was bothering him.  Instead, she picked at the particleboard under the edge of the counter and zoned into the trembling liquid in the green bottle.

“Helen?” he said, breaking the lull again.

She bit her lip, digging her nail under the counter.  “Yeah, hon?”

“Did you really think I was having an affair?”

A chunk of orange foam chipped loudly; her head lifted.  Bob watched her with unadulterated focus, arms at a loose cross.  She blinked into the headlights.

So _that_ had been picking at him.

“I…” she began, faltering over the instinctive “no” that rolled around her mouth.  This was the better answer — of course, she hadn’t actually believed that Bob would cheat on her.  _Of course_ not.  The idea was there, but not in a million years…

She studied his hands, lips pressed shut.  Her brow furrowed.

Maybe for a minute, she’d thought it was possible.  Somewhere in the deepest corners of her mind, she’d been able to picture it, at least enough to keep her up at night.  But she didn’t _really_ believe that he would do that to her.

“Helen,” he protested, the ridge of his nose all pinched up in confusion, and hurt.  He shoved off the fridge.  “How could-  You _know_ me.”

“Yes,” Helen said, voice radiating careful patience.  “And I _knew_ where you were, and I _knew_ you were telling me the truth.  Until I didn’t.”

He didn’t seem to like that, but it was his due for having the gall to guilt her like this.  _She_ hadn’t been sneaking around.  _She_ hadn’t almost gotten herself killed.

With a deep breath, he replied, “I know.  I know that in many ways, I broke your trust — but you knew how important Super work was to me from the moment you met me.  But _cheating_ on you?  Really — that’s where you jump?”

Her expression soured.  “I didn’t jump, Bob.  I didn’t even completely believe it.”

“But you did a little, didn’t you?”

“Well, I did a lot!” she shot back, and manually lowered her voice, leaning in to compensate.  “And I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for all the long blonde _hair_ you brought home with you.  I do your laundry, Bob.”

“All the-” he stuttered, hands spreading onto the countertop.  “Blonde hair?  What, you found a hair and decided-”

“And the mysterious phone calls I couldn’t answer,” she rattled off on her fingers.  “And your sudden interest in your appearance.”

“I’ve always been interested in my appearance!”

“You’re going to wake the kids,” Helen insisted, leaning further.  He bit his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though his tone communicated that he really wasn’t.  “But I don’t see how any of that stuff proves that I wasn’t loyal to you.  How about how good things have been between us?  If I were having an affair, why were we doing so well?”

Helen’s tongue poked her cheek.  “Just because we were having sex does _not_ mean everything was going well.”

“Well, if something was wrong, I missed the memo,” Bob muttered, “because I was having a pretty good time.”

“So was I,” she groaned.

“So then what’s the _problem_?” he snapped, and stopped short of slamming the counter.  “What made you think I was- that _I_ -”

“You were touching me differently!” Helen said, voice straining against a lump in her throat that she didn’t notice until now.  The words had come out without permission, a touch loudly, a touch sharply — a touch accusatory, because it was an accusation.  And it was true, and he had to know it.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat.  That was all she could see before squeezing her eyes shut.

“You were looking at me,” she whispered, biting back tears.  “Really looking at me, for the first time in years.  And you were _happy_.”

He inhaled, but otherwise remained silent.

Helen shook her head and stared down at the counter.  “I didn’t think I could’ve made you that happy — that _we_ …”

She didn’t think that anything any of them had to offer could be enough.  She thought his smile looked fake and his kisses felt guilty.

She thought she was hopeless to lose him.

Spent and warm with tears, Helen turned away, feet slipping off the barstool.  His stance shifted on the tile — audible as he considered stopping her — but he must have thought better.  She slipped away with little resistance.

“Helen,” he did try, as she made for the hallway.

“I’m tired,” she muttered over her shoulder, lingering in the doorway.  “Let’s just try this in the mor-”

A hand clamped around her elbow; she was caught off-guard, pulled around mid-sentence.  She spun off at him and freed herself at once.  Her vision flared with adrenaline before settling on his eyes, and there, they locked in a dead stare.  Nothing was said.

She had half a mind to yell at him for leaving her like this — for making her wonder if he even loved her anymore.  The words burned against her lips, readied, waiting for him to put in the first word.  She ached to hear him accuse her of something else, or make an excuse, or give her the tiniest ammunition to let loose this firestorm of rage and terror in her head…

Nothing was said.  Her chest rose and fell with thick breaths, tears blurring her focus.  His thoughts ran train tracks in his eyes.

He dove down and kissed her.

She jolted, as all at once his arm hooked around her back to pull her in.  His shoulders draped over her frame, engulfing her, pushing her back a step; he kissed her hard, and for a moment, she let it happen, eyes open, breathing hard.

Rage, terror, fire, and brimstone, all inching under her skin like ants, melted into a singular feeling — and it was angry, hungry, pure _desperation_.  The feeling tingled in her fingertips.

So she grabbed him by the collar, squeezed her eyes shut, and kissed him back _hard_ , with all the nervous energy stored up in her being.  His frame was feverish against her, hand shoving into her hair, body dying against her and soaking her up into an all-consuming embrace.  She tugged at his lip, jerking him down by the shirt, feeling almost violent, almost lost in whatever emotion this was, whatever the _hell_ she wanted…

A noise rumbled in his throat and he stole back control, marching her backward until she thumped against the wall — probably too loudly for this hour, damn it, but he never cared — and he kept up the pressure, sliding her up the wall until she was at his level.  He buried kisses into her mouth, like hiding treasure with his tongue, like disappearing somewhere inside her.  She let out a half-contained moan, trying to keep up.  Her hands burrowed under the front of his shirt and strained it against him.

They needed to stop.  Anyone could walk in.

But he hadn’t kissed her like this in years and she didn’t know if it was because he’d been faced with losing her or because he’d missed arguing with her or if he just needed her after all this chaos, but god, she was prepared to break under him if he wanted.

So she tied her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and surrendered to it, and he noticed.  He groaned, _too loud_ , and bit her lip, and she tightened around him so much that she worried she’d choke him.  He kept her pinned against the wall with his body and let his hands wander, first under her ears, dragging down over her shoulders and to her sides, gripping her shirt-

He tugged, a small motion, and the cheap fabric tore under his grip.  She gasped, trying to catch a breath; he went in for more but she turned her head, panting.  His forehead fell against hers, and his eyes opened, and they locked stares again.

Between panting breaths, Helen managed to get out, “Bob-”

“It’s you,” he muttered roughly, and his voice broke on its edge.  “It was you.”

It took her a long moment to register this statement, much more to even remember where they’d left the conversation.  Her heart pounded in her throat; she swallowed, trying to think while she looked deep into his eyes…

When she realized his meaning, her eyes fluttered, and her teeth gritted.  Her lips burned impatiently.

Little else to say, Bob fell back to her mouth, and she sighed.  Her back pressed against the wall until he took the hint and caught her around the waist.  He lifted her up, without breaking a single kiss, and blindly marched down the hall.  As they went, darkness swarmed around them, and the buzz of fluorescent bulbs faded until the only sound left was the soft click of the door locking and the throbbing breaths in their lungs.

It was her.

**Author's Note:**

> The more I watched the first movie, the more it bothered me that we didn't get any real resolution to Helen thinking Bob was cheating on her. They addressed infidelity about as much as Pixar could get away with, but I wanted to dig into the insecurities in their marriage that led up to the affair confusion. So that's what this is.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :]


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